


Change

by boundean



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Eventual Jessica Moore/Sam Winchester, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Lingerie, M/M, Mechanic Dean, Openly Bisexual Dean, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pansexual Castiel, Panty Kink, Store Owner Cas, no one dies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-25
Updated: 2016-03-25
Packaged: 2018-05-28 23:47:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6350470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boundean/pseuds/boundean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean's life was pretty normal considering. He went to work each day, had a place of his own, parents who were divorced and a younger brother.</p>
<p>Though, it wasn't enough for Dean. He soon comes to realise that maybe he needs to make some changes in his life. Then that damn lingerie store opened a block away and forced his hand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Change

**Author's Note:**

> Alright guys! This is pretty much my first attempt at a chaptered fic and hopefully it turns good and you guys like it!
> 
> Anyway, any feedback is appreciated and I'm hoping that I can update this on a fairly regular basis (with work and uni on my ass idk if I can all the time) please someone kick me in the ass if I take too long...
> 
> To all of you who are about to read this, take note that this is un beta'd and all mistakes are my own. 
> 
> Enjoy! *throws confetti*

Dean never thought of himself as feminine. How could he? Not when his father taught him time and time again how to be a “real man”. How to handle your emotions and how to hold yourself high enough to be intimidating. How to grow up.   
  
It was the one thing his father stuck with, much to Dean’s distaste. Sam was lucky, being young enough for his father to overlook him when he was still there.

Standing here though, gaping at the display window of a women’s lingerie store, Dean kinda wishes he could be feminine for once; less manly at least. He wishes he could wear things like that.    
  
Soft. Pink. Even lacy.    
  
He could almost feel the soft satin on his skin. The slow drag of lace against a most sensitive area. Shaking his head and prying his eyes away from the tantalising array of panties in the window, Dean turns and abruptly crosses the street. He was going to be late to work if he kept doing shit like this. Everyday since that damn store opened, Dean's been there practically drooling over the lingerie worthy enough to grace the front display. And each time he almost physically has to drag himself away. Dean isn't exactly keen on telling his boss the reason he's late.   
  
Once on the other side of the street, Dean casts his eyes back one last time, staring longingly at the store so aptly named  _ Heaven & Hell Lingerie _ . Dean was yet to venture inside but was sure the whole atmosphere coincided with the name. He sighs and looks forward, gaze focused on the cracked and uneven side walk. It's times like these that Dean can't help but think of who his father was. Times when he feels himself doubting the man who raised him. He wasn't a bad father, not by any means. He wasn't absent or neglectful, if anything he was better than most fathers out there. He was just… judgemental, is all. He expected too much and most of the time Dean couldn't reach the expectations he'd set. Disappointing your father on a semi-regular basis isn't exactly something most people aim for, though Dean was one of the unlucky ones. The ones who, no matter how hard they try, fail at making their parents proud.    
  
Dean should know it's not his fault. He knows he should. Though, even still, no matter how hard he tries Dean always finds himself in a web of self-hatred and guilt, thinking back over and over all the times he’d failed. All the times he let someone down. He wonders briefly if his father knew he'd inadvertently caused Dean's decline in self worth. Dean scoffs at the thought  _ Probably not _ . John was anything if not oblivious when it came to things like that.   
  
Shaking his head, Dean attempts to rid himself of his thoughts. He was content with where he was in life. He made enough money to get by and still had some left over for luxuries. Being content though didn't necessarily mean he was happy. Dean was a simple man, if not dull. He didn't have any special talents or anything that would draw the eye of a certain someone. He was honestly surprised he got laid as often as he did. His charm and confidence played a definite part in the fact; that he could thank his father for. He wonders though, if he would be happy one day. Legitimately happy. If only, Dean thought, he had a way of knowing.

Arriving at work was the same as any other day. It was quiet. The low hum of an engine and the clatter of tools at the far end of the shop being the only indication they were open for business. It wouldn't stay like this for too long though. In a few hours more of the guys would show up and start working on their share of vehicles at nine, just as things will start to pick up steam.    
  
Walking through the garage and placing his belongings in the lockers of the lunch room, Dean grabs the mug he brought from home and places it on the small kitchenette counter top. Grabbing the kettle from under the cabinet and filling it with water, Dean plugs it in next to the microwave on the right side of the counter. Small scuffs and stains mare the old laminate bench and the paint on the wall closest to the tiny area is fading in places. Dean moves a hand over one of the larger divots in the bench and stares at the movement.  _ Probably need to get that fixed. _ Redo the whole lunchroom if he has time.   
  
“Hey brother. How’s it goin’?” Dean whips his head around and looks at Benny standing in the doorway. Checking the clock hanging on the far wall, Dean raised an eyebrow at his friend's commitment. Benny’s earlier than usual. Dean remembers how Benny had been working at Singers for just over three months now and from day one, Dean knew he was a hell of a worker. He shouldn't be surprised at the early arrival.   
  
“Ah I'm alright, nothing to complain about.” Shrugging, Dean turns his attention back to the kettle in the corner and grins. “You though, a little birdy told me last night you went ring shopping.”   
  
Benny huffs out a laugh and hangs his head. “That little bastard Ash told you, didn't he? What was he doing in a jewellery store anyway?”   
  
“He texted me last night.” Dean’s grin widens as Benny grumbles something under his breath. “I'm happy for you, man. It’s about damn time.”   
  
Looking up sharply, Benny huffs out a breath “Hey now I'm only thirty-”   
  
“What in the hell do you think I pay you idjits for.” Both men jump slightly at the intrusion. Dean smiles brightly at the man who was now adjusting the warn baseball cap on his head.    
  
"Bobby! How's Ellen?" Bobby huffs and crosses his arms over his chest.   
  
“She's fine but you ain't changin' the subject boy and I certainly ain't payin’ the both of you to sit around on your asses all day.”   
  
"You're right, you're paying me to stand in the window and look pretty. Entice the customers and all." Smirking, Dean turns his attention back to the mug on the counter. "We got any tea here?"   
  
" _ Tea? _ " Dean can practically hear Benny's grimace though the single word. His genuine dislike for anything other than black coffee was something Dean was reminded of on a daily basis.  _ Why do you subject yourself to such shit? I'd rather burn of my taste buds with tar than drink that piss. _  And every time Dean would just roll his eyes and take a sip. 

He was used to it.   
  
It wasn't exactly manly, sure. But Dean didn't mind having this one thing to himself. Relished it actually. His father had the same hatred for the drink as Benny and always reminded his son that  _ 'men drink real shit' _ . That didn't stop ten year old Dean though and John soon came to realise, he could allow his son this one thing. Even if his mouth turned up into a scowl every time he saw him drinking it. Dean loved the stuff.   
  
"Yes, tea. I happen to like the stuff."   
  
"Whatever, I think there's some herbal shit in the top cupboard above the sink."   
  
"I thought I said you ain't changin' the subject?" Disgruntled, Bobby stares them down for a moment before shaking his head and waving a hand. "Don't bother, I'll be in my office doin' paperwork. Y'all just better get shit done ya' here?"   
  
Benny murmurs an agreement and leaves before he gets the brunt of Bobby's words while Dean raises a hand to his forehead and salutes with a grin and a "Yes sir." before putting the tea bag into his mug.   
  
The walk home was slow. Not because the journey was particularly long, Dean really only lived a few blocks away from the garage. No, Dean was stalling. He knew the reason. He didn't want to go his usual way but he supposed it was better to get this stupid obsession he’d been harbouring out of his mind  _ some  _ way. 

It started with Rhonda Hurley. She was the school’s self proclaimed slut and always had a guy or two on her arm to keep her company. Always went out to parties and had the best stories to tell. She wore skimpy skirts and midriffs and leaned over all the boy’s desks so everyone could see what was underneath. Rhonda was everything parents hated and… Dean want a piece. Pure and simple. Well maybe not _pure_ but, same thing.  
  
After some perusing from Dean’s side, Rhonda took notice of the boy with sandy hair, bright green eyes and a light dusting of freckles over his cheekbones. Soon enough they were sleeping together. The first time was hard and frenzied behind the bleachers at school. Rough hands and sloppy kisses. It was something Dean would never forget. The second was different from the first. Rhonda took what she wanted and Dean willingly gave it all. What were rough touches became seductive caresses. An index finger slowly dragging over a soft lower lip. Sweet moans into a forehead covered in a light sheen of sweat. It was almost _sensual_.   
  
The final time however, got a bit… kinky. Dean himself had been known to diverge from your everyday garden variety sex but nothing too strange to the average person. Rhonda though, put simply, was a dom. Leather getup and all. It shocked Dean, that he had been sleeping with a girl who owned riding crops and floggers without any indication… _Alright in hindsight he should've known._ Rhonda thankfully understood it was a lot to take in and went slow. Tied Dean’s hands to the bed frame with a soft piece of fabric and whispered things in his ear. Most of which he doesn't remember now but one thing stayed with him. He’d never forget it.  
  
_“How do you like my panties, Dean?” Rhonda's voice was low and sweet, talking only to the boy beneath her. Only for him._ __  
__  
_“They’re so soft and just slides across the skin.” A soft hand at Dean's hip had startled him, but he soon relaxed into the touch. Letting out a small sound of pleasure he had been unable to keep hidden._ __  
__  
_“Do you want to touch them, Dean?” Rhonda breathed against his ear and hitched her left leg over Dean's waist so she straddled him, silky fabric of the panties brushing over his cock and he moaned, twitching at the feel._ __  
__  
_Rhonda had grinned at the sound and pressed down harder, moved faster. “Yeah knew you did. Bet you even want to wear them don't you.” A wrecked moan made its way out of Dean. Writhing and squirming against the bonds and the weight of a body on top of him. Dean realised he was feeling that heat, the pool of desire warming just beneath the skin. It was too soon. “Bet you'd look so pretty."_ __  
  
That was it for Dean. He was done for. Forever instilled into his memory was the feel of those damn panties against his heated cock.  
  
Dean stifled a groan at the thought. Over ten years ago and still it was like it happened yesterday. Doesn't help that he revisits the memory every freakin’ week to help relieve tension. It’s the most used material in his spank bank if he’s being honest.   
  
Before Dean knew it he was standing in front of _H &H Lingerie_, too distracted by his thoughts to notice. And right in front of that freaking window display too. Dean couldn't help himself. He leans in and places a calloused hand against the cool glass. An image of his own lightly tanned body flashes across his mind. Tight black lace panties hug his hips and cut high along the cheeks of his backside.   
  
His breath catches. The few freckles along his stomach standing out against the light cream ribbons that intertwine between the lace along the waistband, coming to join in two delicate bows, one on each hip bone. Dean stares longingly at the very same pair of panties on the mannequin, a small frown marring his face. What would Sam say? Why does Dean want this?  
  
He shouldn't. He wasn't feminine. How could he be? He was a twenty seven year old mechanic with enough notches in his bedpost to cover three. Dean _wasn't_ _feminine_. Granted about a third of them were guys but that didn't mean anything.  
  
Even so... The thought of that soft lace covering his dick was too much to handle. Taking a deep breath to calm his nerves, Dean opens the door to the store and walks in.  
  
The bell above him sounds and he quickly shuffles over to the left side of the room keeping his head down, eyes to the dark floorboards beneath him. Heart thumping wildly inside his chest, Dean wonders why that is. It's not like guys don't ever come in here to buy their girlfriends pretty things... Dean sighs. _Really_ pretty things. In Dean's case he could just, lie? Normally he wouldn't keep the truth hidden and for good reason. But people do it all the time, right? Not everyone who lies is going to be struck down by lightning. Dean repeats that mantra in his head as his fingers graze the edge of a frilly pair of white boy-shorts, mesmerized by the feel. What's another little insignificant white lie?  
  
"Hello."   
  
Dean jumps and makes a small sound of surprise as he locks gazes with the man who'd addressed him. Widened eyes take in the slightly shorter man's appearance, from the little curl of hair stubbornly sticking out from his forehead, crooked glasses framing the most expressive, deep blue eyes that brighten under attention and chapped pink lips and lightly stubbled jaw. Dean's eyes dropped lower of their own accord, taking in the man’s smaller frame and snug fitting white dress shirt, stretching comfortably across his chest. This man was… beautiful. Dean clears his throat and averts his gaze to the rack of garter belts to the right of them, hiding the flush atop his cheeks. Did he just think of a man as _beautiful?_ He'd never done that before. Of course Dean found some guys hot and generally attractive but he never, _not once_ , thought of another man like that.   
  
And when the fuck did he start blushing?  
  
“Are you okay?” _Oh fuck okay be cool._ Dean takes a strip of the first garter belt in hand, trying to look nonchalant. It's red and black with thin woven ribbons on each side. Something Dean wonders, if he could try? _No! Now’s not the time._  
  
Clearing his throat, Dean shrugs, heart racing. “Ah you know. Just browsing, gotta get something for my girl.” _Good. That's good, keep the heat off yourself Winchester._  
  
The man tilts his head and study's Dean's expression. Dean stares back wearily shifting from foot to foot. Darkened eyes narrow for a second before blinking, the man straightening his head as a small smile pulls at the corner of his lips. “Oh? Any special occasion?” Shit.  
  
“Uh, anniversary.”   
  
“Congratulations, how long?” _Fuck._   
  
Swallowing, Dean looks anywhere but the stranger in front of him. “We- um… I- it's been three years?” Dean lifts a hand to rub the back of his neck. He hates lying. Lying is what caused his parents divorce; he doesn't want to cause any more heartache for himself because of something he wants to keep hidden. Or _embarrassment_ in this case, not heartache. Granted it wasn't only the lies that tore his family apart, but yet, It’s the one thing he blames. Neither John nor Mary were responsible to him. He loved them both and he knows they never intended to leave each other. That being said, it still happened. Dean will never forget that. “Look, uh-”  
  
“Castiel.” The man offers slowly.  
  
_Castiel?_ “Look Castiel, I'm just gonna look around at the moment so…” Waving his hand to the rack behind him, Dean moves, shuffling around to put some space between them. "I think I'll just-"  
  
"Ah yes of course." The man- _Castiel_ , nodded in acknowledgement and his eyes fall to the garter belt still firmly in Dean's grasp. Looking down, Dean notices what caught Castiel's attention and his face heats as he pulls both hands and the item behind his back. "If you _do_ need any assistance-" Dean glances up at the other man slowly, slightly taken aback by the small look of understanding. "Just let me know and I'll help." Castiel moves and steps past the rack of delicates between them, his hands clasped together. On his way past Dean however, he lays a gentle hand on his upper arm, startling him. Holding his breath, Dean's eyes trail from his bicep up to the eyes of the stranger. The hand on his arm tightens a little and it becomes abundantly clear. The man _knows_. Panic starts to bubble up inside Dean. Palms becoming sweaty and chest tightening as the air begins to change. Blue eyes bore into Dean's, pupils dilating ever so slightly at the proximity. Not going unnoticed. Suddenly the man leans in closer, only by a mere inch, and winks. "Even if it's just to try them on."  
  
The words, though spoken low enough to easily miss, made Dean's eyes widen immediately. Almost comedically if given a different setting. Castiel pulls back and begins to turn away at a leisurely pace, letting his eyes linger on Dean’s for a few moments before averting his gaze completely. Gulping, Dean watches the man’s back as he retreats, unblinking and heart beating against his ribcage enough to twinge in pain.   
  
Dean doesn't know how long he stands there staring after Castiel. Garter belt gripped tightly in one hand and the other smoothing down a non existent wrinkle in the rough material on his thigh. Finally getting a grip of himself, Dean is faced with the full force of what just happened. The guy _knows_. This stranger, someone who works here no less, knows Dean's secret. Panic begins to rise again as Dean rushes to put the garter belt back on the rack. Breathing rapidly, Dean curses under his breath and once hurrying out the door and onto the side walk, he doesn't stop walking until he gets to his street. Only then, does he stop.  
  
Dean leans against the side of his building to catch his breath. He squeezes his eyes shut only to reopen them a second later. The conversation replaying over and over in his mind and those big blue eyes staring at him with such intensity, appearing every time Dean so much as blinks. Deep breaths bring enough air into his lungs to make him feel light headed. Dean isn't sure what to feel. On one hand he knows he should feel embarrassed beyond repair, and to some extend he does. Though not as much as he thought. Instead of the heat of embarrassment coursing through him, it's the heat of something else. Beneath all his shock and denial, Dean feels _desire_.  
  
It confuses him, to say the least. He shouldn't. He should feel- _well he's not sure what he's supposed to feel but it's certainly not_ fucking desire.  
  
"What the fuck? Nut up, man. Come on." Dean growls low in his throat and leans his head back, knocking is lightly against the exposed brick. He's never going back there. Not after that shit. Castiel can go help other dudes into panties for all he cares because this ass can get into a strip of lace on its own. Groaning, Dean bangs his head against the wall again, harder this time, trying to expel the image of Cas on his knees in front of him holding up _those_ panties. The ones in the window. Dean's mind catches up with him and his brow furrows. __Cas?  
  
Sighing tiredly, Dean rubs his eyes and pushes away from brick. It's getting late and being out here talking to himself isn't doing Dean any favours. 

Entering his building, Dean pulls off of his oil and grease coated clothes from the day out of habit. He stops as he thought of what he must've looked like to Castiel. He sighs and has a quick shower, purposely keeping his head empty, before changing into a pair of old sweat pants and all but falling into bed.

Closing his eyes and relaxing against the soft pillow, Dean lets his mind wander. He doesn't think about work like he usually does. Doesn't stress about money or the little things. Instead he thinks of dark unruly hair and intense eyes hidden behind glasses. And as much as Dean knows he shouldn't, he decides to go back to the store tomorrow. He can't help it. He’ll deny it but he  _ needs _ to go back. Needs to see Cas again. And that's the last thing he thinks of before dozing off.


End file.
